Getting Away With Murder
by SiriusMarauderFan
Summary: Neville goes dark in order to avenge his parents. Serial Killer!AU


**Author's Note:** A million thanks to the best team ever. :)

Written for…

Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. _Team/Position:_ Holyhead Harpies, Seeker. _Task:_ Write a fic inspired by Saw (serial killer)

Hogwarts Assignment #6. _Lesson:_ Media Studies, task 4. _Task:_ Write a Serial Killer!AU

* * *

 **Getting Away With Murder**

 _1,643 words_

* * *

"I'm so sorry for your loss."

Neville resisted the urge to storm from the house as he was forced to hug and thank yet another old acquaintance of his grandmother's. He barely recognized half the guests at Augusta's memorial - a handful of personal friends and family members who had stuck by her through the illness. Almost everyone else hadn't spoken to her in years.

"What will you do now?" asked a young woman whose name he'd already forgotten.

He shrugged, trying to think of a suitable answer. It wasn't as if his gran's death changed much. He would still live in the house, still go to work at the university each day. He would be alone now, but Neville was no stranger to loneliness.

"I'll get by," he answered vaguely.

:-:

There was no use in telling his father the news.

Frank hadn't spoken a word to anyone in twenty-five years and Neville doubted he understood anything said to him either. Alice was more responsive to her environment, but may as well have been in the same state as her husband for all the good it did her. Neither would ever heal, or lead normal lives.

Neville thought about that a lot, especially since his gran's diagnosis. He wondered how different all of their lives would have been if they house hadn't been broken into when he was a child. Maybe they would've moved away, to a bigger city, where Gran could get the treatment she needed.

Hannah, his lovely, kind-hearted co-worker who had taken to listening to Neville rant on their lunch hour, would often say there was no use thinking about the past. She would tell him there was no one to blame for all the loss he experienced, but he knew that was wrong.

Just because the sheriff hadn't been able to find the culprits responsible for the attack on his parents didn't mean they didn't exist, or didn't deserve punishment.

:-:

Once the idea was formulated, there was no getting rid of it, really.

Neville spent weeks doing whatever he could to shake the morbid thoughts, but nothing helped to distract him.

He had to drive past Magnolia Hill each day to get to work, on top of which stood the tall manorhouse that had belonged to the Lestrange family for centuries. He'd never met the current Mr. and Mrs. Lestrange, but he heard of them often - mostly how they were planning on acquiring another landmark in the town, or jetsetting off on another foreign holiday.

Mr. Lestrange's brother was no better. He was the president of the hospital where Neville's gran had spent her final weeks, and where his parents had spent the last two decades. While most of the town saw him as some sort of benevolent saint for sticking around and healing them instead of going to the big city, Neville knew how greedy the man truly was.

And then there was Barty Crouch Jr., whose face was plastered on numerous billboards and signs around town, promoting his mayoral campaign. He would win, Neville knew, not because Barty was particularly charming or clever, but because his father had been. Crouch Senior had been a good mayor, and everyone would take their chances on his son being the same.

Sometimes Neville thought he might be the only person in the world to hate the four of them. They were gods to the townsfolk, after all. But he was positive they were the ones who had stolen his parents' minds.

:-:

Gran had done what she could when the attack first happened. She'd fought to see the four teenagers arrested and prosecuted, but the Sheriff wouldn't hear of accusing the children of three notable families. So Gran had collected what evidence she could - not a lot, admittedly - and hidden it away in the attack, until her young grandson was ready to hear the truth of what had happened to his parents.

Two months after Gran's death, Neville finally snapped. He'd been laying awake every night, his mind going over the plan he'd accidentally created. He kept thinking how easy it would be to climb in the window of Dr. Lestrange's office when he was working late, like he did every night. How many lives would he save by getting rid of him? He was desperate to find out, and it wasn't like he was going to be able to sleep until he did.

:-:

The hospital was old, only two floors, and Neville was a fair climber. He'd spent much of his youth climbing trees to avoid bullies. Main Street was dead at the late hour, and even the hospital parking lot was empty. He had no trouble climbing the large tree out front, and then it was just a short jump onto the roof, from which he easily lowered himself down onto Dr. Lestrange's windowsill.

The doctor was alone, though the perfume of his latest fling still permeated the air. Lestrange was sat at his desk, his back to the window, typing at his computer. He didn't see Neville creep up behind him, and by the time he felt the rope slip around his neck, it was too late to react.

:-:

The doctor's brother and sister-in-law were quite shaken by the murder, naturally. They pleaded with the public to come forward with any information they might have. Neville watched their crocodile tears with a stony face. He wanted to hurt them as he'd been hurt, but he supposed people like them didn't feel things the same way. The only way to truly hurt them would be to allow them to join the doctor in hell.

:-:

The Lestranges had guard dogs - vicious things with rows of pointy teeth. Neville wasn't particularly good with dogs, but he was good with herbs, and he knew which one and how much to give the beasts that they would fall asleep and leave him to his business.

Security cameras were easily disconnected, and then all it took was a little lock-picking to get inside. Neville had been watching videos online all week in preparation. He'd even practiced on his bathroom door.

The Lestranges were cocky, he realized, expecting to hear an alarm the moment he entered the manor. But he supposed no one ever dared to burgle the richest family in town when anyone who crossed them wound up dead or in prison for life.

The happy couple were sleeping soundly when Neville reached their bedroom. He imagined their deaths happening a million different ways, but decided a fire would be the most efficient.

Quickly, and as soundlessly as possibly, he poured gasoline around the extravagant bed, through the hall and down the stairs, and only lit it once he was free of the front doors.

According to the Sheriff's report the next morning, Mrs. Lestrange died of smoke inhalation, while her husband broke his neck when he fell from the balcony in a poor escape.

:-:

There was just Crouch left, and Neville hated to leave the job unfinished when he was so close to his goal.

He hadn't even been questioned on the other murders yet - and why would he be? He'd only met Dr. Lestrange once, briefly, to discuss medical bills, and had never been seen in the same room as the murdered couple.

Crouch canceled almost all of his upcoming press events, supposedly to show respect for the horrible crimes that were being committed around town. Neville believed Barty was just scared. In the days following the Lestrange fire, the politician was hardly ever seen outside of his house, and he was never alone.

It was time for something more creative, and more hands-off.

:-:

Crouch's anniversary dinner was unavoidable. His wife was notorious for loving to spend her husband's money, so it was obvious that they'd be having dinner at the best restaurant in town.

Neville watched them leave for their date, hidden in the park behind their house. The Crouch home was smaller than the Lestranges, easier to get into, but it was earlier in the evening than Neville was used to working and he needed to be more careful in sneaking around.

There were no dogs to worry about, nor alarms. One jimmied lock and he was inside, and then it was just a matter of finding something he could use against Crouch, that preferably wouldn't harm his wife. Neville didn't approve of taking an innocent life.

Judging from the case of protein powder in the kitchen cupboards, Crouch was watching his weight. His wife had too big a sweet tooth - constantly seen with a glass of wine or champagne. But Barty was always chugging some green drink as he jogged down the street.

The powder was carefully laced with poison, something that wouldn't take effect right away, but would make Barty exceedingly ill the longer he ingested it.

Pleased with his clever thinking, Neville left the house the way he'd found it.

:-:

The sudden and unexpected death of Barty Crouch Junior was all the town could talk about, almost a month after Neville's secretive visit to the politician's house.

"It's just awful," Hannah said over lunch that day, shaking her head at the front page of the newspaper. Neville had to admit, he did feel slightly guilty seeing Mrs. Crouch in tears.

"Everything happens for a reason," he told her. She'd told him the same thing hundreds of times before.

He couldn't say he was proud of his actions. He wasn't even sure he was happy with the outcome. Four people were dead, and murder was a crime, after all. But it did feel as if a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders now that he didn't have the constant reminders of those wicked people all around him.

At the very least, he was sure his gran was smiling down at him, proud that he'd set things right.


End file.
